The Turning

by Linda Watkins

  “Where are you going, Husband?” I asked as I stepped down off the buggy.

  “We have need of hay and Farmer Gates has extra that he is willing to sell cheaply. I want to get my bid in before anyone else hears of it.”

  “But it’s growing late. You won’t be back before nightfall.”

  He frowned and shook his head. Realizing I’d been dismissed, I turned to walk back to the farmhouse. After I mounted the front steps, I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Abraham nod to Josiah and hand him his whip.

  My hand flew to my mouth. The mare that he had harnessed was the skittish one who hated the whip and had a tendency to bolt if struck. I ran back down the steps.

  “Josiah!” I yelled. “Do not use that whip!”

  But I was too late.

  He lashed at the horse, coming down hard on her backside. Feeling the sting of the lash, she whinnied loudly, then reared, her front legs pawing the air. She came back down hard and took off at a gallop.

  The wagon jerked forward, one of the rear wheels leaving the ground. Josiah, startled, lost control of the reins, which fell between his feet. He clutched at the buckboard seat, trying desperately to stay aboard. Abraham raced after them, yelling, but the mare did not slow.

  Careening left and right, one of the wagon wheels collided with a boulder, sending the cart flying into the air. Josiah could no longer hold on and went sailing off the seat. If he had simply landed on the ground, he might have survived with only a wounded pride. But one of his feet became tangled in the reins and, as his head hit the ground, his body continued to be dragged forward by the mare.

  I screamed.

  Abraham ran after the wagon, but could not keep up with the panicked horse. We watched, helpless, as Josiah’s now limp body was dragged through the rocks and dirt alongside the broken wagon.

  Finally, the mare, exhausted, stopped and began to graze. Abraham and I ran to my husband, whose body lay in the dirt, motionless.

  “Josiah!” I cried.

  As I approached, Abraham stepped between me and my husband.

  “Come no further!” he yelled. “What you have wrought here this day is no less than murder!”

  I stopped in my tracks, unable to believe what he was saying.

  “Stand aside, foreman!” I screamed angrily. “And allow me tend to my husband.”

  Surprised, Abraham did as I commanded, revealing the body. Josiah lay crumpled on the ground, one leg turned unnaturally at the knee, his neck twisted and broken. I knelt in the dirt beside him and leaned forward, hoping against hope to find a pulse at his neck or a heartbeat in his chest.

  But all was quiet. My examination confirmed what I knew in my heart. There was no doubt, my husband was dead.

  I sat back on my haunches, tears of regret streaming down my face. I did not love him, but he was a good man and I respected him. I could have done better by him.

  After a moment or two, I turned toward our foreman, who was now standing contritely, his head bowed.

  “Fetch me a blanket to wrap him in. I will cleanse the body and then lay him out in the parlor. Send Jedidiah for the minister.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  I stood watching as Abraham walked slowly toward the house. The man seemed broken, his back bent, and face somber.

  Later, after I had cleansed the body and dressed Josiah in his Sunday best, Abraham and I laid him out in the parlor for the viewing. When we finished, I took Abraham aside.

  “Why did you call me ‘murderer,’ Abraham?” I asked. “I did nothing but to try to warn my husband of the fickle nature of the mare.”

  Abraham bowed his head. “Sorry, mistress. I was distraught. He was … he was my friend.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder, nodding. “Josiah valued you. He thought of you, not as servant, but as friend as well. I will forgive thee.”

  Abraham nodded and stepped away and, while he seemed to regret his accusation, there was something in his eyes that caused a ripple of fear to travel down my spine. In one strange twist of fate, all my problems had been solved. I could sell the farm, which would give Micah and me more than enough money to start a new life. And I would not have to leave my dear little Samuel.

  As these thoughts passed through my mind, I could almost hear the cackling laughter of that old man – the man whom I had unwittingly bargained with. Was his sorcery somehow behind this tragedy?

  I shook my head, trying to clear it, knowing thoughts like these would surely drive me mad. I couldn’t afford that affliction now. I had to busy myself preparing food for the minister and mourners who would be arriving soon.

  Witchery and Skullduggery

  TWO DAYS LATER, Josiah was laid to rest in the private cemetery on the farm. That same day, Abraham packed his bags and left without a word. Jedidiah was soon to follow, leaving me and little Samuel alone on the farm. Thus, insulated from the world at large, we were not privy to the news coming out of Salem. I would learn later that a special court had been convened and would sit in judgment of the accused witches, the first of whom would be hanged in June.

  But I was not overly concerned. My negotiations with my neighbor to sell the farm were progressing nicely and I expected that, soon, Micah and I would be able to leave behind all this madness.

  A week after the burial, I ventured to town on market day to pick up supplies. This was more difficult than usual because I no longer had the assistance of the boy, Jedidiah, and I also had to bring young Samuel with me. Knowing how Imelda doted on my young charge, I planned to drop him at her shop whilst I conducted my errands.

  “Hello,” I called as I entered the shop with Samuel on my hip.

  “Maude, is that you?”

  “Yes, missus.”

  As I spoke, Imelda emerged from the back of the shop, but she was not alone. At her side was Micah and his face looked grave indeed.

  “Micah!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  He ignored me and turned to Imelda. “Lock the door and pull the shades.”

  She nodded and, without a word, walked to the front of the shop.

  “What’s happening?” I asked, fear rising in my belly.

  “Sit, my love. We have much to tell you.”

  Curious, I sat and waited. Imelda came back and took young Samuel from me. “Let me see to the boy while the two of you talk.”

  Micah nodded to Imelda, then sat beside me, taking my hands in his.

  “The news from Salem is grave. Dozens more have been accused. I fear it has ignited a fever throughout the Colony.”

  “But what has that to do with us?” I asked.

  “Last night, I stopped at the Merry Widow Tavern on my way home from work. I sat in the back, in the shadows, not wishing to be seen by the other patrons. Seated at a table nearby was your foreman, Abraham, and several other men whom I recognized as Zachariah Palmer and his cohorts.”

  “Yes, I know Zachariah. We went to lessons together. He was an unpleasant youth who I expect has grown to be an unpleasant man.”

  Micah nodded. “Yes, he has and he is very outspoken about what is happening in Salem.”

  “So, why should this concern me?”

  “Patience, my love, I’m getting to it. They did not see me. I was like a fly on the wall, listening to their idle boasting and talk. I was about to leave when your foreman spoke up.”

  “What did he say? Did he speak of me or of Josiah?”

  “Yes, love, he did. He told Palmer and his friends that before Josiah’s death, he heard you speak in tongues – calling out an incantation and waving your hands as if to cast a spell. He said further that, as the words left your mouth, the mare bolted as if commanded by some foul demon, throwing your husband to his death.”

  “Lies!” I cried. “I merely tried to tell Josiah not to use the whip on that beast. That is all!”

  “I know, my love. But there’s more. He then told his now rapt listeners that Josiah was still alive when he lay on the ground, but that you inte
rvened and sucked the breath from him, causing his death. And he swore that Josiah had been afraid of you – that he’d told Abraham, and I apologize for being indelicate, that you had a third teat hidden in your flesh from which a demon often suckled.”

  I sat silent, astonished by the magnitude of Abraham’s lies.

  “But why?” I finally asked. “Why would Abraham tell such evil falsehoods?”

  Micah shook his head. “I do not know for sure. But I would guess they stem from jealousy. There were rumors about the relationship between your husband and his foreman – that it was deep - and I suspect that Abraham expected more than he got after his patron’s death.”

  “You mean he thought he would be included in the will?”

  “Perhaps. But that is of no consequence. What is of consequence is that Palmer and his friends responded by demanding your arrest. They were drunk, to be sure, but I fear that in the light of day, their eagerness will go unabated. So, we must leave, my love, tonight.”

  “Tonight? But I am still in negotiation with Farmer Bacon for purchase of the property.”

  “No buts. Tonight it is. Go see Bacon now and complete your transaction even if you have to take less coin. I will take care of any needed supplies. We will meet at the farm at dusk. We depart this colony at midnight.”

  I started to object, but he silenced me.

  “There is no time to waste. Understand, my love, we are all in mortal danger.”

  Leaving Home

  I DID AS Micah asked. Pleading grief, I settled with Farmer Bacon who, I must say, was pleased to be getting such a bargain.

  Tucking the coin away, Samuel and I headed home. I put the boy down for a nap and began packing what we would need for such a long and perilous journey. At dusk, Micah arrived and immediately began to outfit my wagon with a canvas covering that would provide shade and comfort at night when we camped. The tarp had been treated with oil and would also be waterproof should it rain. Imelda arrived shortly thereafter and, when she walked into the house, her appearance surprised me.

  Gone were her flowing skirts and pretty blouses. She was, instead, outfitted in men’s leather breeches and a plain white shirt covered by a long leather jacket. On her feet, she wore knee-high riding boots and, on her head, a tri-corner cap, her hair tucked neatly away beneath.

  “Goodness, missus,” I said, astonished. “I almost mistook you for one of the hands.”

  Imelda smiled. “It’s going to be a long trek and I want to be comfortable. You should try it.”

  As she spoke, Micah entered the room and the expression on his face when he saw her was priceless and caused both Imelda and I to erupt in peals of laughter.

  Regaining his dignity, Micah turned to me. “Does Josiah have any guns?”

  Surprised at his question, I nodded.

  “Show me,” he said.

  I led him to the closet where Josiah kept his firearms. Inside were two fowling pieces, a couple of small pistols, and a bag full of cartridges and mini-balls.

  “These will do us well,” Micah said. “Can you handle a gun, Maude?”

  I looked at him surprised. “No, Micah. I have never even touched a gun.”

  “I can,” interrupted Imelda. “Hand me one of those muskets and a pistol.”

  Micah nodded, pleased, as he handed her one of the fowling pieces and a handgun. “I’ll take the other musket. I already have my own pistol. Maude, you take this one.”

  He handed me the small gun, which I reluctantly took.

  “Keep it under your skirts as you drive the wagon,” he instructed. “If necessary, just point and shoot. Perhaps, once we are out of the Colony, I can teach you properly how to use it. But for now, only fire if circumstances are dire.”

  Taking a deep breath, I nodded and tucked the small gun into my apron.

  “Now, I have some more loading to do and need to get the animals ready. Can you fix us up a little supper, my love?”

  I smiled, finally glad to be of some use. “Of course.”

  Later, as we finished up our supper, Imelda told us of the others whom she expected would join us on the road.

  “Mistress Barker, the mid-wife, and her kin will be coming. She is very frightened by what is happening in Salem. One of the accused is a distant cousin. Also, the Ingrams – she’s a healer. And, perhaps two or three other families who had had their fill of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.”

  “Good,” said Micah, standing. “All are welcome. The more the merrier! Now, I still have work to do. Maude, you and Imelda lie down and try to catch a nap. It’s going to be a long night.”

  We left the farm at ten past midnight in three wagons drawn by oxen. Young Samuel was asleep in the back of mine, tied down under the tarp so that, if we hit a bump, he would not fly out. Attached to the back of the wagon was our cow and one of the mares. Two crates of chickens were in the wagon with Samuel along with our clothing and foodstuffs. Micah led the way, his wagon full to bursting with tools and supplies. On the back of his cart were tied his horse and our other mare. Imelda brought up the rear, her vehicle also fully loaded, a mule tied to the rear. Her musket sat prominently by her side as she moved the wagon forward.

  With all our supplies and livestock, we knew it would be slow going. We hoped to cover at least fifteen miles a day and, at that rate, Micah anticipated it would take us four and a half days to reach the Colony’s northern border. Not a long time, but, in our heightened state of anxiety, it seemed like an eternity.

  Not long into our journey, we were joined by one, then two, then three other wagons. At each juncture, we stopped briefly to make introductions, then doggedly traveled on. At noon, exhausted, we stopped to eat and catch a couple hours sleep.

  Thus, we slowly made our way through the Massachusetts Bay Colony, trying as best as possible to avoid the more heavily traveled routes. Micah’s foresight in securing spare wheels for our carts paid off by the third day when my wagon went over a jagged rock and splintered the wheel. Having a spare saved us I don’t know how many hours’ travel time.

  It was the fourth day and our hearts were lightened knowing we would soon approach the Colony’s border. We were traveling at a good pace when the sound of hoof beats thundered, surprising us. I turned to the sound and could see a group of men galloping across the open fields in our direction, their horses leaving clouds of dirt and dust in their wake.

  “Make ready!” Micah yelled. “We have been found!”

  As he spoke, he pulled his pistol from his waistband and brought his musket to his shoulder. Terrified about what was to happen, I put my hand on the butt of my pistol and warned young Samuel to stay quiet and hidden. “Point and shoot,” was what Micah had told me and, if it was necessary to save my son’s life, that’s exactly what I would do.

  The riders were soon upon us and, as they approached, slowed their steeds. I recognized the leader immediately – Zachariah Palmer – that pimply-faced boy who’d tried to kiss me when I was but fourteen. But, now, he was a boy no longer, and the look of hatred in his eyes when they fell upon me sent a chill to my heart.

  “Whoa,” he said to his horse, stopping before our lead wagon. He pulled his pistol from his waistband and aimed the firearm at Micah who was now standing with his pistol pointed at Zachariah.

  “Put your firearm down, Jew,” Zachariah commanded. “Do so now and there will be no trouble. We have come to arrest only one person – Maude Abbott, née Prichard.”

  “And what, pray tell, is Mistress Abbott accused of?” asked Micah, ignoring Palmer’s slur.

  “Witchery to be sure.”

  “And who are her accusers?”

  “Her foreman, Abraham Martin, and her hired boy. They were witnesses to the hex she placed on her husband, causing his death. Now, put down that gun and let us take her to justice.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot accommodate you,” Micah replied, raising his pistol. “Mistress Abbott stays with us.”

  “Then you’ll all be charged,” Zachariah sne
ered, as he turned his head to one of his cohorts. “Take him.”

  The man to Zachariah’s right slid off his horse as did the two behind him. Muskets raised, the three spread out and began to move toward Micah, flanking him. I pulled my pistol from under my skirts and was ready to shoot when a voice startled me.

  “Jeremiah Brown, stop where you are unless you want to spend the rest of the day having your mother pull buckshot from your backside.”

  I turned. Imelda stood in her wagon, musket aimed at the man closest to her. He turned when he heard his name, stared at her for a moment, smirked, and then, once again, began to move forward toward Micah.

  Imelda put the musket to her shoulder, aimed high and, without another word, fired a round over Brown’s head, barely missing him.

  “The next one will find its mark, Jeremiah,” she yelled. “I’m a dead-on shot. I never miss unless I want to.”

  Surprised by her vehemence, I was further shocked to hear another voice call out from one of the wagons behind me.

  “I am also a dead-on shot,” a man called. “And if any of you take another step toward Mr. Levine, you’ll be pushing up daisies at the end of the day. No one harms one hair on his head or Mistress Abbott’s, at least not while I’m alive.”

  Zachariah swiveled around, and was surprised to find guns aimed at him and his men coming from all corners.

  “Order your men to put their firearms down,” commanded Micah, as he stepped from the wagon. “Do it now!”

  Surrounded, Zachariah and his men had no choice and, silently, they laid their weapons on the ground.

  “Mr. Davis,” called Micah to one of our men. “Pick up those guns. We could use some extras. And, pat those men down. I don’t trust that they have revealed everything here.”

  Davis smiled and did as Micah requested, finding another two pistols and a couple of knives in the process.

  Nodding, Micah stood in front of Zachariah. “We’ll take your horses, too. I think it will do you a world of good to walk back to town.”